


Quiet Afternoon Crush

by neverthelessthesun



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (implied) - Freeform, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst, Antisemitism, Artist Steve Rogers, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bullying, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Childrens Hospital Visit, Christmas, Chronic Illness, Coming Out, F/M, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Great Depression, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, Hanukkah, He and Steve are just friends, Historical Inaccuracy, Holidays, Hospitals, Hydra (Marvel), If they'd just talk this would be a way shorter story, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lack of Communication, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Oblivious crush, Orphanage, POV Steve Rogers, Pain, Porn (mentioned), Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Avengers (2012), Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Project Rebirth, Prosthetics, Racism, Recovery, References to Depression, Self-Esteem Issues, Slang, Smoking, Snarky Tony Stark, Steve Rogers-centric, Stony is endgame, Survivor Guilt, Therapy, World War II, author is re-editing this so it might be a while before next update, canon-compliant through end of Avengers (2012), i am so sorry i love you all, i purposefully left it vague, so you can stan bi Steve or gay Steve or whatever makes your heart happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-03-25 01:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13823547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverthelessthesun/pseuds/neverthelessthesun
Summary: Steve tried not to take anything too hard.A series of moments taken from the life of Steve Rogers, man out of time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thanks for clicking! I hope to tag everything I think might be a problem, but let me know if I missed something. 
> 
> Stony is endgame. Steve being with others is very light. See chapter notes for more info. 
> 
> Title taken from “Supercut” by Lorde.
> 
> Enjoy!

1930, Summer  
   
Dot and Mary-Margaret weren’t speaking to Steve. He wasn’t sure what had changed since last week, when he had sat with them and drawn pictures, carefully copying the face of their doll onto a scrap of newspaper, pressing as light as he dared with his precious graphite pencil. They had cooed over the drawing, then, begging him to promise to make more, and he had agreed. But now, they wouldn’t even look at him.  
   
He supposed the boys from over on Claremont Street had been spreading rumors again, that Steve was sick, that he was contagious and being around him would make you sick, too. And couldn’t nobody on this block afford a doctor, not these days. Steve tried not to take it too hard.  
   
He sat down on the stoop of Mother Agnes Children’s Home and watched the girls play with the doll. There were boys playing with an old ball down the street, and occasionally they got close enough that Steve could make out what they were saying. His hearing, at least, wasn’t getting worse. Not like his back.  
   
Mary-Margaret was pretending to feed the doll, while Dot brushed its hair. Steve didn’t much care for dolls, or for playing house like Mary-Margaret loved to do, but he did like playing pretend. He would daydream about being a knight in shining armor, strong and riding a horse, like in the storybooks.  
   
Or he would be a baseball player, like the Dodgers. He didn’t think he would have to be very good, to be on the Dodgers, because Mr. Olson down the street said they played for shit and paid more attention to the weather than where the ball was. Maybe if Steve tried really hard, he might really play for them some day.  
   
He was sitting there, daydreaming about being a baseball player, and trying not to cough too loud, because then Sister Anne would tell him to come inside where it was stuffy and hot. He was so caught up in his head that he almost didn’t notice when the ball from the game down the street rolled over and bounced against his stoop, before rolling to a stop in front of him. He stared at it for a full second before struggling to his feet.  
   
“Don’t mind it, Steve,” Arnie hollered, running over and scooping the ball up before Steve could make it down the steps. The boy stood there awkwardly for a minute, mouth half-open like he was about to say something, then he closed his jaw with a snap. “D’you wanna…er…”  
   
Steve tried to smile at him. “Thanks for asking, Arnie. I’m—fine.” And Arnie, glad for the reprieve, skipped off without another word.  
   
It really was very kind or him to offer, but even if Steve had the energy to walk over to the game and play goalie, his reflexes were too slow to do him any good. He knew it would end with his team scowling at him and stopping the game early when it was clear they were going to lose.  
   
Steve tried not to take it too hard.  
   
.o0o.  
   
1931, Autumn  
   
Mary-Margaret was walking down the street, her second-hand books gathered close to her chest. Her shiny brown braids caught the fading sunlight when it slipped between the buildings. She was walking faster than normal, her shoes making little clip-clip-clip sounds against the pavement. The skirt of her uniform fluttered around her legs.  
   
Steve was sat on the stoop again, this time wrapped in a sweater, despite the warm weather for October. His chills had kept him home today, and so he was soaking up as much sunlight as he could. Sister Anne said sunlight was the healing touch of God. He wasn’t sure he believed that, but Steve liked being outside.  
   
So he was watching as a fair-haired boy crept up behind Mary-Margaret and yanked her braids. Hard. Hard enough that her head flew back, and she dropped her schoolbooks. He heard her cry out, half in pain, half in surprise. He was on his feet and running before he knew what was happening.    
   
“Hey,” he tried to shout. Then he cleared his throat and tried again. “Hey! Leave her alone!”  
   
The fair-haired boy turned and eyed Steve, and laughed meanly. “Who’s this, Margie, your little beau?” Steve was huffing from running the short distance, and couldn’t reply, but Mary-Margaret muttered a quick “No.”  
   
“He looks like a stiff wind would blow him to Jersey,” the boy laughed again. “What’s a crumb like you gonna do about it if I play with Margie, huh?”  
   
“Leave her alone, or I’ll—” Steve put up his fists, like he’d seen the older boys do. “I’ll sock you.”  
   
“Steve, you better scram!” Mary-Margaret hissed under her breath.  
   
“Yeah, Stee-eve,” the boy singsonged, “Better blow, before your flirt tells you off.” And he yanked on her braids again.  
   
Steve lashed out, swinging as hard as he could at the boy’s chin, and his fist connected with a thwap. He felt quite proud of himself for only a second, before the boy’s meatier fist smashed into his nose, and there was a painful crunch. Mary-Margaret screamed, and when Steve opened his eyes, he was dripping blood everywhere.  
   
Sister Anne stuck her head out from the alley, and started rushing toward them down the street. The boy turned tail, shouting “Better luck next time, Stee-eve!” over his shoulder.  
   
Steve got up slowly, his head spinning. “Are you alright?” He asked Mary-Margaret thickly, covering his nose with his hand. She stared at him, terrified, and whimpered.  
   
“Stephen Grant Rogers! What on earth are you doing starting fights?! You’re practically—” Sister Anne stopped herself, before she called him a cripple. “You’re in no shape to be causing brawls. Good heavens, child!” And she rushed them both inside. 

Steve tried to hide his brilliant grin.  
   
.o0o.


	2. Chapter 2

1934, Spring  
   
After that, it sort of became Steve’s modus operandi to pick fights. He would scrap with the boys in the schoolyard for fun, and get beat down, and get back up again until he was so sore he ached from head to toe. He would challenge the older boys when they said nasty things about the girls in class, or about the teacher, or the sisters. He would end up face-first in the dirt going after some punk who stole from Mr. Olson’s bodega. But to Steve, there was nothing better than a fight to make him feel real, like he was worth something. Even though he lost pretty much every fight he was in, he fought, and he fought hard for what was right.  
   
It was the week before Easter when a new kid came to live at Mother Agnes Children’s Home. The halls were buzzing with whispers, murmurs, about how James Barnes was that boy whose parents were murdered, shot in their beds, because the mob’s trigger men had broken in and done it. They said it was a mistake, it was their next door neighbor that owed the mob, and that Joseph and Geraldine Barnes had died over nothing. They said there were three kids, split up to different homes, and that the youngest girl was already adopted, but James was just turned sixteen, and there wasn’t a chance someone would be willing to adopt an older boy like him.  
   
James was quiet and solitary. He didn’t roughhouse or play ball, and he wouldn’t join in conversations about the horse races or baseball. He kept his distance, mostly ignoring the other kids and tolerating the occasional comment from the sisters.  
   
James ended up sitting near Steve, more often than not, because Steve also didn’t spend much time around the other kids. His health had been bad, this winter, and he was still trying to catch up in his schoolwork, so he usually spent his free time with his nose in a book. They didn’t talk much, to each other or other people, but Steve felt a sort of camaraderie between them—the outcasts of the outcasts.  
   
Steve was getting beat up in the alley outside Mr. Olson’s bodega for the second time that week, because Charlie Smith had been teasing the Katz twins for being Jewish. He had been saying some awful things, sounded a lot like his father, and though Steve knew it was a lost cause, he’d jumped in and told Charlie off.  
   
Steve was going to pass out, he could feel it fuzzing on the edges of his vision, when suddenly the assault stopped. Steve picked up his head and tried to look through his swollen eye to see if Mr. Olson had come out, but the figure he saw was too short to be Mr. Olson.  
   
“Scram,” a familiar voice growled, and after a second, Charlie listened and hustled off.  
   
“I had ‘im on the ropes,” Steve muttered, annoyed at having to be saved. “I didn’t need any help.”  
   
“Course you didn’t,” the voice said again, and a tanned hand was shoved into Steve’s face. He accepted it and was pulled to his feet. “S’just looked like fun, wailing on a guy half my size. I thought I’d get in and give it a go, but he didn’t seem too keen to be on the receiving end.” And now that he was standing, and his head wasn’t quite so fuzzy, Steve could see James looking back at him, amused and a little scruffy.  
   
Steve shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, thanks,” he offered grudgingly.  
   
James laughed at him, but it wasn’t mean. “You’re something else, Stephen,” he offered his hand again, this time for a handshake.  
   
“Steve,” he corrected, and shook the offered hand.  
   
“I go by Bucky,” James offered. Steve tried not to laugh. “It’s okay, I know it’s a bit off. My baby sister called me that.”  
   
Steve thought this was kinda sweet, then kinda sad, so he said nothing. They stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, until Mr. Olson stuck his head out and told them to get lost. They ran out of the alley and into the street, and Bucky didn’t leave Steve behind, but stayed near him. Steve tried not to notice that James—Bucky—had to slow down to match pace with him.  
   
“Wanna go shoot stones at the pigeons?” Bucky offered, pulling a slingshot out of his back pocket.  
   
Steve smiled thinly. “I don’t got the best aim. Thanks for offering, though.” It was kind of Bucky of ask.  
   
“Come on,” Bucky wheedled. “I’ve got the worst aim this side of the Hudson. If you’re worse than me, you’ll get a prize.”  
   
Steve tried to refuse again, but Bucky persisted. Finally, he said yes, and they proved that Bucky really did have the worst aim, at least between the two of them, even with Steve’s swollen eye.  
   
.o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m on tumblr at neverthelessthesun.tumblr.com. Kudos and comments are love!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end of chapter for Steve/Others SPOILERS note.

1936, Summer  
   
The heat wasn’t so bad in New York, that summer. Steve knew from the newspapers he delivered that it was the hottest summer on record for a lot of the country, with Chicago getting temperatures in the hundreds almost daily. But in Brooklyn, the heat wasn’t terribly above normal.  
   
What got you was the dryness. There was no humidity, no rain, and the flowers on Mrs. Thompson’s windowsill died in June. You felt like you couldn’t take in enough moisture, like you wanted to go for a swim in the Hudson. It was enough to drive anyone mad.  
   
By the time Steve was eighteen, and had to leave the children’s home, Bucky had been out for two months. He’d gotten some work on the docks, it paid okay when it was there. Bucky got picked for labor more often than not, because he was young and strong.  
   
He had been making enough between the tiny allowance his parents had left him and the dock work to get a room with a few other fellas just a few blocks from the home. When Steve was old enough, he joined Bucky there. One of the guys made noise about Steve contributing to the rent, but Bucky said, “Your punk brother stays here for free nine nights outta ten, Frank. He don’t chip in for the rent. Well Steve’s my punk brother, and he stays.”  
   
“Jerk,” Steve muttered under his breath, but since he wasn’t taking up more space than Bucky already paid for, the other boys let him be.  
   
Steve spent his time drawing comics for the local paper, when they would pay him, and making dozens and dozens of eight-pagers. Turns out even in a recession, folks’ll still pay top dollar for porn.  And if Steve’s art wasn’t entirely accurate, well most of the folks he sold ‘em to didn’t know any better than he did.  
   
.o0o.  
   
1939, Winter  
   
It was nearly Christmas before Steve got the feeling that maybe this awful recession was on its way to being over. There were more people in jobs now than there had been in seven years, and even Steve could find work occasionally. He got a pretty good gig as a clerk with Mr. Olson’s bodega, and spent his days doodling between running the till and sweeping up.  
   
Bucky had blossomed the last few years, losing some of the sadness that had followed him around ever since Steve had known him. This was partly because Rebecca, his closest sister, had aged out of foster care and had a fine job working as a washerwoman. They could see each other like they couldn’t when they’d been wards of the state, and having her in Bucky’s life made him fit to burst with happiness.  
   
Steve got to know Rebecca a little, and learned more about their youngest sister, Jo, who was living with a nice family upstate. Jo had only been two when their parents died, and didn’t remember much of her siblings, but Bucky tried to keep tabs on her. She was turning seven this year.  
   
With Rebecca around, Bucky was sunnier, more playful, and more extroverted. “It’s nice to see him back to his old self,” Becca commented one day, as Bucky chatted with their neighbors in the chilly, bright street. “He used to be so charming, he’s been more melancholy since we were separated.” Steve, who had never seen this chipper, happy-go-lucky Bucky, nodded numbly and tried not to take it too hard.  
   
But that evening, as they curled up on opposite sides of the tiny bed, Bucky had thunked his head back into the pillow. “It’s so tiring, being the person she expects me to be,” he mumbled into the dark.  
   
Steve was quiet for a moment, and then said, “Don’t be. Just be you. She’ll love you no matter what.”  
   
They had fallen asleep pressed together in the comfortable silence, and Steve tried not to feel like he had won, because he got to have these parts of Bucky that no one, not even Becca, would ever see.  
   
.o0o.  
   
1942, Winter  
   
“I’ve been drafted,” Bucky told Steve as they ate dinner. Steve said nothing. He had expected it. It had been only a month since Pearl Harbor, though, and Steve had foolishly hoped for just a little more time.  
   
Bucky cleared his throat. “I’ll get to see Europe, maybe. Or the pacific ocean.”  
   
Steve kept his mouth shut. He stabbed his meal a little more forcefully.  
   
“They’re saying we’ll be back before summer,” Bucky offered, his hands shaking around his glass. “They’re saying now that America’s overseas, we’ll clean that Nazi scum right up.”  
   
Still, there was silence. Steve set down his fork and wiped his mouth.  
   
“Stevie,” Bucky pleaded, and Steve looked up to his face. He broke.  
   
“I’ll miss you something awful, Buck,” he said, his voice trembling just as much as Bucky’s hands. Because no matter what they were saying, war was war, and people died. And Bucky was going.  
   
That night they clung together like they hadn’t since the cold, cold winter last year. It wasn’t that cold out, but they pretended it was, just to feel one another, the realness of the other and the warmth of another person. They didn’t move until dawn.  
   
.o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky share a bed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end of chapter for Steve Rogers/Others SPOILERS note.

.o0o.  
   
1942, Spring and Summer  
   
Steve tried to enlist. Bucky yelled at him the first time he found out, when Steve left his F4 paper lying around. But they both knew it was futile to try and convince Steve to stay when Bucky was going, so they ignored it after that. Still, the tension of the decision hung tightly in the air between them.  
   
Steve tried four more times before it took, and by the time he knew for sure, Bucky had already shipped out. Steve left a forwarding address at their old apartment and tried not to feel bad if he never received a letter from Bucky—they probably did get lost in the mail.  
   
Dr. Erskine was kind and way smarter than anyone Steve had ever met, until he met Mr. Stark. But Steve didn’t overmuch like Mr. Stark, so he didn’t care to include him in his acquaintances. This wasn’t only because he witnessed Mr. Stark making snide comments about the female staff (including Peggy) or because Mr. Stark gave off the impression that he thought he was better than everyone else, or because Mr. Stark drank just a little too much for Steve’s taste. He just…got a bad feeling off of him.  
   
Steve trained hard for Project Rebirth, and he tried not to get distracted by the lack of Bucky’s letters, or the way Peggy would glance at him a little longer than she needed to, which was so very foreign to him. Plenty of birds looked at Bucky that way, but him? It was a first. He kind of liked it.  
   
.o0o.  
   
1942, Autumn  
Steve didn’t like the lingering looks so much after the serum had done its work. Because he felt like a pretender in this body, like he was wearing a costume, even when he wasn’t wearing the stars and stripes. Because the gals never would have given him the time of day before this.  
   
He felt like a fool. He thought he had been signing up for something greater than himself, but here he was entertaining old ladies and children while men died in the trenches overseas. He knew he could do more. He knew it.  
   
Still, the girls from the USO tour were kind, and they encouraged him not to be shy, and laughed at his jokes and taught him how to smoke. He never had before, with his asthma.  
   
Beth, especially, took a shine to him, and through the months they were touring, Steve developed a bit of a crush on her. She thought it was cute, really, but she let him kiss her, and he felt a little old to be losing his virginity, but there you have it.  
   
It was months before he performed for what was left of the 107th, months of listless pent up anger and not a single fight. Steve was itching for one—it was the longest he had gone without punching someone (other than fake Hitler) since he was twelve. So when he heard there were men trapped, and there was a chance Bucky was with them, he leapt at the opportunity to get onto that plane and jump straight into enemy territory.  
   
.o0o.  
1944, Winter  
   
Steve thought about rescuing Bucky (“I thought you were smaller,”) and about Peggy (“Captian,”) and about everything that had happened since he started being Captain America. Really being Captain America, not just play acting one. He thought about the men he’d rescued from impossible situations, about the strategies he’d contributed, about his team, his Commandoes. Steve thought about the war, and the allies, and how many men he couldn’t save. He thought about the Red Skull, and Hydra, and how the weight of responsibility had become so normal to him. He thought about the way Bucky’s eyes followed him, like they were looking at a stranger, but familiar, and how they would light up when Steve would do or say something that let his personality shine through.  
   
Steve thought about all these things as he slipped the plane lower, towards the ocean.  
   
.o0o.  
   
Because, you see, when Steve would do something that reminded Bucky of the old him, the littler him, and Bucky’s eyes would light up. Steve lived for that moment. He lived to see Bucky remember happier times, to realize that Steve may have changed shapes on the outside but not on the inside. So he tended to slip into his Brooklyn accent more than he would have otherwise. He tended to pick fights, and draw in the corners of all his papers, and pull crazy stupid stunts.  
   
Because when he did those things, when he was true to himself, he would see more of Bucky. The war, the shellshock would drop from his face for just a little while, and it would almost be worth it, the death, the pageantry, everything. It would be worth it to see those glimmers of life in his friend’s face, to know that there was still a chance they could go home at the end of it all.  
   
.o0o.  
   
There wasn’t a chance in hell of that, anymore.  
   
.o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peggy and Steve kind of flirt. Steve loses his virginity to a female member of the USO tour. Steve remembers Bucky in a way that *could* be stretched to look romantic.


	5. Chapter 5

2012, Spring  
   
There was a humming. In the walls. The walls were humming like they were full of electricity.  
   
Steve slipped back under.  
   
.o0o.  
   
When he woke up, there was a woman in a poorly-fitting SSR outfit telling him lies. He thought, Germans, and panicked.  
   
.o0o.  
   
The truth was so much worse. 

.o0o.

Steve listened to Agent Fury explain SHIELD, then he listened to Agent Hill explain his options. He found that he didn’t care too much what happened to him, and he tried not to show it. He knew shell shock was a one-way ticket to the madhouse, or the clank. 

Hill gave him an apartment with two bedrooms and his own living space, and it was three times the size of the place he had shared with Bucky and the boys. It was too big, too open. Steve slept in his closet. 

They set him up with a psychiatrist, tried to help him adjust. Steve spent most of his psych time asking questions about how the world worked and refusing to answer the questions posed to him. 

Before he had given Hill his decision on what to do with him, they asked him to come in. If he was honest with himself, there was never going to be any other option—he would go when they needed him. 

It was good to fight again. His muscles worked and his fists flew, the vibranium shield slicing through the air around him. But it felt wrong, and maybe this new world was too strange, because Loki was magic and monsters and all the things he had hoped to end when he went down into the ice, but from another world. Perhaps the war was never really over. 

When the dust settles, Steve was sure he hadn’t done enough. His new team was fractured, most of them had almost died, and he was their leader—lost in a haze of guilt and grief. There were hundreds of civilians dead, and the thousands of alien bodies, and how was he supposed to grieve a city that wasn’t even his anymore? 

SHIELD kept calling him in. They called for Captain America. Then the media latched on to him, realized that he wasn’t just a man in a suit but the real deal, and everyone wanted a piece of Captain America. Steve felt himself slipping away under the cowl, losing pieces of himself to the hubbub and the chaos. He wondered if it would hurt less when he was gone, when only Captain America was left. 

.o0o.   
2012, Summer

 

It was Tony Stark that helped him come back. 

Tony offered him a home, first off. Everyone seems to forget that Stark tower was Tony’s baby, his everything, proof that he had a heart on the grandest scale, and he gave it to the Avengers. The symbolism of that struck Steve dumb to this day. 

Tony spent hours catching Steve up on pop culture, movies, history, technology, and these weird pictures he called “memes” which he swore were very relevant. They watched Star Wars on the communal floor, shoving popcorn in their faces and discussing the characters. Tony made him listen to classic country, rock, hip-hop, and something called Rihanna. They covered the finer points of post-post-modernism and art history, the political movements of the sixties and seventies, and the rise of the World Wide Web. 

Tony also treated him like a friend, and not like a resource. He gave him nicknames, teased him, they had inside jokes. Steve had never really had a close friend, other than Bucky, who he could have inside jokes with. Not even Bruce got it when they would crack up, seemingly out of nowhere. 

Tony had this way of sticking to his guns that the fighter in Steve admired. He would turn the criticism back on people in a way that challenged them to think before they spoke. He wouldn’t let anyone say a bad word against his friends, and he was very protective of his work and ideals. Though the way he went about it was different than the blunt, classless approach that Steve usually took to responding to bullies, he still prioritized standing up for what he believed in. 

In short, Tony was everything Steve wished he was. Wildly intelligent, witty, charming, generous to a fault, independent and strong in his own morals without being judgmental. He was a great friend, the best Steve could have asked for. 

Slowly, Steve got to know the other members of the team, too. He instigated a movie night every week, and most of them made it to poker on Monday evenings, and Steve learned how everyone liked their eggs cooked for Saturday morning breakfast. 

Natasha offered to teach him more hand-to-hand skills, as well as how to knit. Clint helped him polish his ASL and his nerf gun game. Bruce introduced him to more kinds of tea than he knew existed, and told him about living in far-off countries. Thor sparred with him so he didn’t have to always pull his punches, and was a wonderful storyteller. All in all, he suddenly had more friends than he had ever had before, outside of his unit in the war. 

As he settled in to the new millennium, it occurred to Steve that, even with the chaos and the strangeness of this time, it wasn’t as bad as all that. 

.o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys I’m working on chapter 10 and honestly fics longer than 2k do NOT come easy to me, so I’m amazed at how this one is coming. Pray that my muse does not leave me.


	6. Chapter 6

2012, Autumn

“Hey, Tony?” 

Tony didn’t turn from his worktable, but he made a humming noise in recognition of Steve’s presence. 

“I’m just gonna sketch some, over here, if that’s okay?” 

Another humming noise. 

“Thanks.”

Steve plopped down on the raggedy couch in one corner of the workshop. DUM-E rolled up to him like a curious golden retriever, and Steve gave him a high-five. 

“Wanna pose for me, buddy?” He asked. But DUM-E shook his claw mournfully. “That’s okay. Tony has you working hard, so you just help him and I’ll draw you next time, okay?” The bot seemed pleased by this and rolled off. 

Instead Steve sketched the long worktable and the glow of Tony’s workscreen. He lightly drew in DUM-E standing by, ready to help. He drew the careful curve of Tony’s back as he bowed over some project. He drew Tony’s hands—then he flipped the page and drew Tony’s hands again, and again, because they wouldn’t stop moving, and Steve could never get them quite right. 

“Sir,” JARVIS cut in, “You have six hours before your event this evening.” 

Tony sighed. “Hadn’t we agreed, J, that you wouldn’t interrupt me unless—”

“—Unless you have six hours until your event, and you have gotten insufficient sleep in the last twenty-four hours.” 

Tony slumped. “I could ignore you,” he whined petulantly. 

“Ignoring me when miss Potts agrees with me, how brave,” JARVIS offered drolly. 

Finally Tony turned off his screens and wiped his hands on a rag. He tugged off his shirt and dropped it next to the couch as he passed. “Oh, hey, Steve,” he threw over his shoulder. He dropped into a tiny cot behind the couch face down, and was asleep in less than three minutes. 

Steve tried not to stare at him. Steve tried not to think about why he wanted to stare at him. “JARVIS, when was the last time he ate something?” 

“Sir has not eaten in eighteen hours. He has not slept since Tuesday night.” It was Thursday. 

Steve got up as quietly as he could manage. He went up to the common kitchen and threw together a quick meal—chicken salad and some greens—before returning down to the workshop and placing it in the mini fridge Tony kept. “JARVIS, would you please let Tony know when he wakes up that there’s food for him?” 

“Most certainly, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS sounded very pleased. 

“Thanks,” Steve said. He took one last look at Tony’s sleeping form, then he grabbed his sketchbook and went up to his own room, where he tried to convince himself not to draw the scene from memory. 

.o0o.

2013, Spring

By the time Steve came out, he had sketchbooks full of nothing but Tony. It would have been embarrassing if anyone except for his crush’s AI butler knew about it. As it was, he had asked JARVIS not to tell anyone, so he was still mortified but safe from public embarrassment. 

Coming out was a strange experience for Steve. After all, being a fairy in 1944 would have gotten him kicked out of the army and arrested, if not killed. And now it was something to celebrate—there was a big parade called “Pride” every year that was full of rainbows and smiling faces. Sure, not everyone was happy about it, but this new millennium wasn’t perfect. 

Tony had told all the Avengers when they moved in that the Stark Industries Press team would be handling all their PR from now on, so Steve went straight to Meghan in PR. They crafted a few scenarios, from press conferences to talk shows, but eventually Steve decided to make a video. It felt more honest to just talk to a camera in his own space, using his own words, than to have lights and makeup and laugh tracks. 

What resulted was a very heartwarming and intimate six-minute video that went viral in no time. Meghan had disabled comments of the “YouTube” but they still streamed in through Twitter and fan mail. Steve was expecting the hatred, the vitriol. He was expecting people to say the video had been faked and calling for him to be stripped of his rank. 

He wasn’t expecting the outpouring of love, gratitude, and support from all over the world. 

Chelsea, a fourteen-year-old from the Philippines, tweeted at him that his video had given her the courage she needed to come out to her mom-and that her mom had hugged her and told her she was loved. 

Mike, an architect from Boston, said that he was moved to tears to see his childhood hero not only accept him, but identify with him. 

A group of women from Australia made a response video thanking Steve for being loud about his orientation and calling for marriage equality in their country. 

#CapPride started trending, and whatever that means Meghan assured him it was good. 

Steve had had to go to Montana for a mission shortly after the video was released, so aside from a short phone call from Natasha and Clint (“Way to go, Cap! You broke the internet!” Thwap. “Don’t scare him, Clint.”) he was in the dark about how his team had reacted. 

It wasn’t until he was headed to the common room for movie night that he realized this might be a bad thing. 

.o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up, the team’s reactions and a trip to the children’s hospital.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been a little longer than I wanted to leave it. I have been having a rough couple weeks. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Friend Steven! My solicitations on your successful coming out! I have been told by the Lady Darcy that removing one’s self from the closet is a cause for celebration!” Thor pilled Steve into a squeezing hug, then shoved a drink into his hand. 

“Uh, thanks?” Steve returned, confused. 

Bruce glanced up from his crossword. “Oh, did you come out? Congratulations,” he offered. 

“It wasn’t really a secret, before,” Steve replied. “But I thought maybe it would help some people to know they’re not alone. And I was sick of Bill O’Reilly pretending I would agree with him.” 

Bruce gave him a soft smile. “Well, I know it would have helped me when I was a kid. Sorry I haven’t watched it yet, I don’t spend a lot of time online.” 

Steve waved him off. “It’s fine.” 

Clint made some more closet jokes, and Natasha asked to set him up with her barista. It was all going about as well as he could have asked for. 

Then Tony walked in. He sat down on the couch and chatted with Bruce a little, and then he argued with Clint about whatever movie they were going to watch. He didn’t so much as look at Steve. 

Steve tried not to fidget. The movie started, and he couldn’t pay any attention to it. Maybe Tony was offended that Steve didn’t tell him first? Or maybe he was offended that Steve came out at all...

It was a tense two hours until the credits rolled. Steve sprung up out of his chair, tense like a coil. “Tony,” he tried. 

“I’ve got a project waiting downstairs, it really can’t wait,” Tony said to the room, not even speaking to Steve directly. Then he dashed to the elevator and disappeared down into his workshop. 

Steve made to follow him, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Give him time,” Natasha said. “He isn’t mad at you, he’s just...processing.” 

Steve glumly agreed and stayed with the team instead, letting the chatter of the team swirl around him without really listening. He didn’t regret coming out, not at all, but—if he lost Tony, something in him said it might not have been worth it. Steve tried not to take it too hard. 

.o0o.

Tony was back to normal by the following Saturday, taking his eggs from Steve gamely and asking for coffee. “Gotta keep my energy up, today. We’re going to the hospital.” 

The children’s hospital was one of Steve’s favorite and least favorite places. Favorite, because he got to brighten the days of the kids and families there. Least favorite, because he always cried, every time, and he found himself drained after going. He would never stop going. 

 

When they got there, the Avengers usually divided and conquered, so as to visit as many rooms as possible. Today, though, Tony hung close to Steve, and they ended up visiting most of the kids together. It was a great treat for the children – “Captain America AND Iron Man! Wow!” – and it made the process a little easier for Steve, too.  
   
He had a tendency to get downtrodden, to bring down the mood when he was left to his own devices. With Tony, there was always a joke or a story to listen to, always a compliment to be given. And the kids, their smiling faces peering up from sterile hospital beds and wires, they were always happy to see them. There wasn’t a single child that didn’t light up like a Christmas tree when asked if they wanted to hold the shield. If these kids could be happy, Steve owed it to them to be happy, too.  
   
Tony just…made it easier. To be happy. Steve wasn’t going to think about it too hard.  
   
After the hospital, it had become a sort of tradition to go out and get ice cream with the whole team. Bruce was the least comfortable doing public events like this, and something sweet always calmed his nerves. And, if Steve was being honest, it gave them all time to process what they’d seen and heard in a safe environment. See, he listened to his therapist.  
   
“Alyssa looked good today,” Tony commented from behind his root beer float.  
   
Natasha smiled. “She’s got a new formula. It’s made out of real food instead of that synthesized junk she was on before. It’s helping.”  
   
“I didn’t see Carlos,” Clint piped up. “Anyone get eyes on him?”  
   
“He got sent home again,” Steve said. “He recovered faster from this most recent surgery than they were expecting.”  
   
Clint raised an eyebrow. “And how did you know that?”  
   
Steve shrugged. “I’m on his update mailing list. His aunt sends out email updates once a week or so.”  
   
“Send that to me,” Clint demanded.  
   
“Hell, post it on the common room bulletin, Capsicle,” Tony suggested. Steve nodded.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s right, you get two chapters today :)

They relaxed comfortably into chatter about the kids, enjoying their wind-down time and each other’s company. Towards the end of their time, Bruce set down his bowl. “Avery…”  
   
They all grew quiet.  
   
“It doesn’t look good,” Bruce continued. “They’re doing everything they can to try and flush the infection, but if her body can’t fight, it can’t fight.” Bruce kept his eyes locked on the empty ice cream bowl. “They’re saying three weeks, if she’s lucky. And that’s three weeks of being poked and prodded and living in a hospital, and her mom is living and working in another borough. It’s just…no kid. No family should have to go through that.”  
   
There was really nothing that could be said to that. Avery had been in the hospital the first time they had visited, almost six months ago. She was the first child that any of them had gotten to know really well, that wasn’t going to go home.  
   
The Avengers couldn’t fight for these kids. They couldn’t battle cancer, or AIDS, or heart conditions. They couldn’t take the invasive treatments for the children, or come up with magical cure-alls, or send them home to be with their families. They could only be there, and stand witness, and keep coming back.  
   
Steve knew he had been lucky to survive his childhood. The pneumonia and the heart palpitations alone should have gotten him. But he was never as sick as these kids. He had never had to be as brave as them. They faced death when they looked in the mirror. To look at them reminded Steve that there were some things he could never beat.  
   
It also reminded him that, just because he didn’t think he could beat it, doesn’t mean he shouldn’t fight. Because these brave, beautiful children, they fought every day, and for all the ones like Avery, who smiled like the sun and knew she was dying, there were some—not all, but some—that defeated their undefeatable condition. There was always hope. There was always hope for a fighter.  
   
.o0o.  
   
2013, Winter  
   
The holidays were a strange time at Avengers Tower.  
   
First, between the six of them, only Bruce and Steve had any good memories of celebrating Christmas. Natasha didn’t have any good childhood memories, Clint had never celebrated Christmas in the circus (“The Bearded Lady was Ashkenazi.”) Tony just remembered his father’s stuffy parties and excessive drinking, and Thor didn’t know what Christmas was until he came to Midgard.  
   
Bruce’s token good memories of Christmas were celebrating with Betty, and those were now tinged sour with regret. So, really, they were starting from scratch.  
   
Steve worked with JARVIS to find a Christmas tree farm, and trick the whole team into coming and picking a tree out. Tony whined like Steve had asked him to stand outside in the cold for days, and Thor nearly set the tree farm on fire, but all in all Steve called the outing a success.  
   
They made Christmas ornaments out of tinsel and beads. Natasha taught Thor how to string popcorn, which he was surprisingly good at. Thor himself shared tales of the greatest feasts ever to take place in Odin’s halls. Clint played every annoying Christmas carol compilation video he could find. Even Bruce was getting in to the spirit, looking up recipes for mulled wine and eggnog.  
   
Tony, though, struggled to connect to the holiday season.  
   
“You kids have fun now,” He would say, before attempting to skitter down to his lab. But Bruce would put a hand on his shoulder, or Steve would ask him for help, and he would reluctantly be drawn in for a few minutes before trying to escape again.  
   
Finally, one cold and snowless afternoon, after Tony had slipped out of an invitation to go ice skating at Rockefeller, Steve asked, “Why doesn’t Tony like Christmas?”  
   
“He didn’t like it when Natalie knew him,” Natasha offered. She rarely talked about the time she had gone undercover in SI, and Steve knew she felt guilty for it. “Then again, he was dying.”  
   
“His father used to throw these elaborate parties, and invite society’s best to drink and schmooze,” Bruce said. “I think between having to wear a suit on Christmas and being gifted the same watch three years in a row, he sort of lost the attraction.”  
   
Steve wondered, not for the first time, why Howard Stark decided to have a child.  
   
Thor bellowed “If the Man of Iron dislikes this holiday, we should give him reasons to enjoy it, so he might spend it with us, his shield brothers.”  
   
They agreed that this was a good plan. 

.o0o.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Retagged with all the new stuff for the next few chapters. :)  
> See end of chapter for Steve/Others SPOILERS note.

The next day, Clint surprised them all with their own little menorah, and read the story of the miracle of Hanukkah aloud. He taught them the right order to light the candles in, and afterward, brought out a massive platter of fried latkes for them. Tony didn’t make excuses to run away, and instead enjoyed the food and company with good humor.  
   
Thor spent a lot of time learning about the traditions of Christmas, and, with his penchant for storytelling, soon became the tower’s most dedicated reader of “The Night before Christmas”. This, Tony was slightly less receptive to, but once Steve used his Cap voice asking everyone to stay, he settled in and even seemed to enjoy the story.  
   
“I shall learn the ballads from the movie, as well!” Thor boomed after his dramatic reading. “They are a most interesting interpretation of the story.”  
   
“What movie, big guy?” Tony asked.  
   
“Why, the Nightmare before Christmas!” And Thor broke out into a fantastic rendition of “This is Halloween” on the spot. Tony curled into a ball, quaking with laughter.  
   
.o0o.  
   
Natasha knitted scarves for each of them, and made Tony’s red and gold. He didn’t take it off for three days.  
   
.o0o.  
   
Steve invited Tony out shopping, out to see the carolers, out ice skating (again). Tony staved off these invitations as much as he accepted, but eventually Steve could usually wear him down and out they’d go. The city was bustling with shoppers and Salvation Army bell ringers, and once he was out of the tower, Tony honestly enjoyed himself. The spirit of the season soaked in and penetrated even the hearts of New Yorkers, Tony included.  
   
“I have no idea what to get Natasha,” Steve bemoaned to Tony as they walked down a crowded street. “I never bought a gift for a woman before.”  
   
“You know,” Tony replied, “I’m starting to think your nervousness around the ladies is pure honest nerves, not crushes like I thought.”  
   
“What!?” Steve spluttered. “I don’t—I don’t have a crush on Natasha!”  
   
Tony looked up, laughter in his eyes. “I know. That’s why I’m thinking I was wrong. I think you just don’t have any idea how to act around women.”  
   
“Of course I do. I mean, I—” Steve took a deep breath and ignored Tony’s chuckling. “I guess, growing up how I did, I got used to dames—uh, women—not giving me the time of day. You know, I socked a bully in the jaw because he was picking on Mary-Margaret Henson when I was thirteen? She wouldn’t speak to me for three years.”  
   
Tony nodded sagely. “Pretty hard to like a girl when you can’t get to know her.”  
   
“Tell me about it!” Steve agreed. “It was so much easier to stick to boys. I knew how to talk to fellas, and I got pretty good at hiding when I had a crush. Dames, I just never got the practice.”  
   
Tony got a little quiet. “I guess, back then…” He trailed off. “I guess you had to be good at hiding it?”  
   
Steve shrugged, suddenly nervous. He and Tony hadn’t talked about this yet. “Even if I hadn’t, I was such a pipsqueak back then, no fella woulda given me the time of day either.”  
   
“I would have,” Tony offered. When Steve scoffed, he insisted. “No, really. I’ve seen the pictures. You were adorable. You know, that starving artist look is in, now.” Steve had to chuckle.  
   
“Bucky used to say that. About how any dame’d be lucky to have me, that they must’ve all been blind.” Steve sighed, his breath visible in the cold. “He never gave me any time, though. Shows what that means.”  
   
Tony had gone stiff at the mention of Steve’s friend. “Right,” he said, under his breath so Steve wasn’t sure he was meant to hear. “Bucky.” Then, louder, he asked, “What’s it been, almost two years for you?” Steve nodded and Tony gave a bitter laugh. “Two years or seventy, I still can’t compete. I guess I can’t blame you, though.”  
   
Steve was about to ask what the hell that meant, or maybe apologize for saying the wrong thing, when Tony spun on his heel and started walking back towards the tower. Steve hurried to catch up with him. “Tony, I—“  
   
“You know what, I think I’ll take a cab. You’ll probably still beat me back.” Tony murmured sadly. Then he hailed a cab, one appeared out of nowhere, and before Steve could let out another “Tony—” he was gone.  
   
Standing on a street corner, alone and suddenly feeling the cold for the first time, Steve tried not to take it too hard. He pretty much failed.

.o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony talk about liking girls and guys in a general sense. Steve implies he had a crush on Bucky, and would have dated him.


	10. Chapter 10

2014, Winter  
   
The rest of the holiday season and into the New Year passed in a sort of funk for Steve. Tony spent more time in his workshop than ever, and he locked even Bruce out. Steve himself spent more time in the gym, pounding away at sandbags until they broke.  
   
The team noticed their shift, and although they tried to help mend it, there wasn’t much they could do when no one, not even Steve, knew how to fix it.  
   
Steve tried to reach out to Tony, he really did. He missed their friendship. He missed…well, if he was honest, he missed the hope that bubbled in his stomach when they were together. Like maybe, just maybe, there was room for something more between them.  
   
Those hopes were pretty much dashed, now. It seemed no matter what he did, Steve couldn’t help but stick his foot in his mouth when Tony was around.  
   
.o0o.  
   
2014, Spring  
   
Instead of moping around the tower, Steve tried to stay active. He got himself assigned to more missions with SHIELD. He went with a team, usually Natasha and the Director’s favorite strike team. Clint came along sometimes, too. It felt good to be using his fists on a regular basis again. Therapeutic.  
   
His therapist disagreed, and told him his coping mechanisms were destructive, whatever that meant. He kept doing it anyway.  
   
Steve had the chance to move out of the tower in March, and he sprung at it. Natasha mostly worked out of the DC office now, anyway, and after his and Tony’s fight it felt like the team dynamic he had fought so hard for was fractured. It was supposed to be a temporary move, just for a month, but Steve ended up staying longer.  
   
He felt himself fading back into Captain America. Natasha noticed and did her best to keep him, to keep Steve present. She tried setting him up on a dozen dates (tactfully, all with women. He didn’t even have to tell her that the only guy he’d be interested in was back in New York) and she kept recommending coffee shops and record stores and places where he would be required to have a modicum of social interaction. He appreciated her effort.  
   
And, he did make a new friend. Sam ran the same loop he did every weekday morning, though Steve usually ran it seven times to Sam’s one and a half. Sam’s presence was a balm for Steve. He was kind, and funny in a nice way, and he knew what it was like to lose someone in war. The best part was, he didn’t remind Steve of Tony at all.  
   
(He thought about Tony enough on his own.)  
   
.o0o.  
   
“Bucky?”  
   
“Who the hell is Bucky?”  
   
.o0o.  
   
By the time the helicarrier was in the river, Steve and a whole lot of other people had a pretty big spotlight on them. He knew Hill, for one, was under some pretty intense scrutiny, and Natasha was struggling to corral the entire US Congress and the UN.  
   
So it wasn’t a surprise to him that the rest of the team kept their distance, at least publicly. This was the kind of thing that, if it went sour and got pinned on you, you were better use to everyone far, far away from it.  
   
Steve tried to get Sam to hang up the wings and go home, but he refused. “I’m already in it up to my eyeballs, man. There’s tabloid photos of me that my niece recognized, and she’s three. No going back now.”  
   
.o0o.  
   
In between picking up the pieces left by SHIELD and combing the world for Bucky, Steve had a lot on his plate. Still, each of the Avengers found a time to get a message to him or meet with him.  
   
Clint showed up in Nat’s safe house one afternoon, drinking her beer and lounging on the beat-up couch. “Get out,” she snarled at him.  
   
“Hey, Clint, nice to see you aren’t dead, Clint,” he mimicked. “Hey, Clint, sorry we couldn’t give you a heads-up that the organization we’ve given half our lives to is secretly the evil we were trying to fight all along.” Natasha slapped him. “Ow.”  
   
“Get. Out.” She ordered.  
   
“Relax, ‘Tasha. I’m not going to sign myself up for your media circus. I just wanted to drop by. Check up on some old friends.”  
   
“You know that no one can afford to be friends with me until this blows over,” She growled.  
   
Clint sobered. “And it will blow over? You’re sure?”  
   
They spent a solid minute just staring at each other, reading something in each other’s faces that Steve would never understand. Then, finally, Clint’s shoulders relaxed and he turned. “Hey, Cap, how’s it going?”  
   
“Poorly,” Steve managed.  
   
“Got a new bird buddy, I see. Word on the street is you’re chasing another buddy. Trying to replace us?”  
   
Steve choked. “Never.”  
   
Clint’s grin was razor sharp. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on chapter 16 now, just to give you guys an idea on the length of this thing.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I swear I didn't mean to leave it this long. I am so sorry. :,(

Clint brought notes from Bruce and Thor. Thor’s was handwritten in an elegant script, while Bruce’s was typed. They both expressed condolences for Fury’s death, and Thor, especially, waxed eloquent about how the warriors of true heart will find their way to Valhalla. Steve didn’t have the heart to write back that Fury was alive.

If you need anything, have JARVIS give me a call, Bruce’s note ended. He knows where I’ll be. Steve wasn’t proud enough to deny that he was glad Bruce had decided to skip town for this one. 

After maybe half an hour, Clint emptied the beer he’d been nursing and gathered his things. “I’ll have your back, Nat. Whatever you need,” he said. Then, without so much as a goodbye, he left. 

His surprise must have shown on his face, because Natasha put a quelling hand on his arm. “He doesn’t have to give me a hug to show he cares. Just showing up here was more than I would have asked of him.”

Sam was a little mad he’d missed Clint’s visit, but he brought a short voicemail from Hill. “We’ve got a friend we didn’t know we still had,” she said cryptically. “More to follow.” Hill was a professional that way.

And Tony? Tony didn’t call or text, he didn’t leave a note. Tony went on national television and proclaimed his message into every microphone they were stupid enough to shove in his face.

“Captain Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff will always have a place here at Avengers Tower. Once an Avenger, always an Avenger.”

After weeks and weeks of tribunals, testimonies on the senate floor, and pulling their hair out, Congress finally ruled the incident with the Helicarrier was not their fault. Natasha, Hill, Sam, and Steve, at least, were off the hook. The general consensus was that Pierce had been the foothold of HYDRA in SHIELD, and all senior level officials in the alphabet agencies for the rest of the US would be evaluated to determine that they weren’t HYDRA too. 

Steve was pretty sure there was HYDRA on all levels of the government, including in Congress, so he wasn’t too hopeful that their investigation would turn any results. They would have to clear out HYDRA the old-fashioned way.

.o0o.

2014, Summer

Clearing Bucky’s name, unfortunately, was a bit harder of a task. Steve was ashamed to admit he let it consume him for a while.

“Take a break,” Natasha said.

“I can’t rest until I get them to see—“

“Steve. It’s three in the morning. Take a break or I’m cutting you off.”

“But I—“ 

“You’re cut off. Go somewhere else for a minimum of two days. Two!” She repeated. Then she swept up all the files and paperwork and took it away. 

Steve showed up on Avengers Tower’s metaphorical doorstep, which was the lobby on the first floor. He stood aimlessly for a few minutes, not sure if he should go to the reception desk and ask to be let in, or simply try his old override code. While he was deliberating, one of the staff approached him. “Mister Stark is expecting you. Please use the private elevator.”

When he arrived on the common floor, he was relieved to see that not much had changed in the four months he had been away. The couches were the same, the kitchen was cleaner, but familiar, and JARVIS chimed from the ceiling. “Welcome back, Captain Rogers.”

“Hi, JARVIS,” Steve said. “Thanks. I’m sorry I was gone for so long. I have been…distracted.”

“We are glad to have you back. Sir will be up in a minute.”

Steve puttered around, picking up an afghan that was on the floor and in general trying to look busy. He felt nervous. He hadn’t really seen Tony since—and what if—

“Steve!” Tony boomed. He stepped out of the elevator looking overly casual. Like he was trying to look casual. “I’m glad you could make it.”

Steve smiled and stepped forward. “Hey, Tony. I—I’m glad to be here.” Tony’s face flickered, but Steve pushed. “Really. I am.”

Their gazes met, and Tony searched Steve’s face for clues, and indication of a lie. Steve let him. Finally, he seemed satisfied and grinned back. 

“DUM-E moped for a week when you moved,” Tony came and stopped in front of him. “Really, I told him it was for work, but it was pitiful to watch. Have you ever seen a claw mope?” 

Steve offered a chuckle. He told himself his voice didn’t shake when he said, “I’ll have to make it up to him.”

They stood there for a second that seemed to last for longer. Steve felt, in that moment, that he could reach out and touch Tony, and pull him closer, and press them together. Like it might be okay to do that. 

Then the spell was broken and Tony, still smiling brushed past him towards the kitchen. “So, did you come for help finding your Sarge-sicle?” he asked, false bravado in his voice. 

Steve blanked. “What?”

“You know,” Tony said as Steve turned to follow him. “Your other half. You’re Capsicle, he’s Sarge-sicle? You guys come in a two pack. Vintage. Very in.”

“Actually, Natasha kicked me off his detail,” Steve muttered. “M’ not allowed to do anything for two days. I got…too involved. I wasn’t helping anymore.” This seemed to surprise Tony. “Also, he’s not my other half. Bucky’s my…he was my friend.”

They sat at the island in silence. Tony seemed to be processing what Steve said. “Well, I’m glad she’s looking after you,” he said finally. “You’d work yourself into the ground if we let you, you know.”

Steve half-grinned. “I know.”


	12. Chapter 12

Being around Tony again, after four months of pretty much no contact was—it was wonderful. Steve felt like he could breathe again. It was stilted and awkward, sometimes, too, but they pushed through. 

Bruce was still living elsewhere, and Thor had moved into Jane’s van again, so it was really just the two of them in the tower. Clint was theoretically still living there, but since Natasha’s name was cleared, he’d been sleeping on the couch in the safe house. (Steve would have thought they would share a bed, but he had stopped trying to make their relationship make sense a long time ago.)

So, they had no excuse not to see each other and talk to one another. Steve tried to avoid making that storm cloud look of Tony’s come back, but it was hard to pinpoint what was a good topic and what was a no-go. Howard Stark, for example, was pretty firmly in the “do-not-mention” category, but Peggy Carter was something they could connect on.

“She came around a few times when I was a kid. She would tell stories, and she taught me how to handle my first gun.” Tony grinned, his eyes glazed with memory. “What a woman.”

“She was the first person to shoot at me outside of combat,” Steve offered. “She put four rounds in the center of my shield after she caught me being groped by one of the orderlies.” 

“Ooh! Captain America played around!” Tony singsonged. 

Steve laughed. “It wasn’t what it looked like. She cornered me!”

They talked about baseball, and the team, and what to do about SHIELD. Tony let slip that he was courting Maria Hill in an effort to get her to work for him, as head of SI’s Security and Intel department. (“SI squared, for short.”) They had a few uncomfortable moments, but all in all it was the most relaxed Steve had been since Christmas.

By the end of day two, Steve almost didn’t want to leave. “I don’t want to leave Natasha alone too long. She’s already juggling so much…”

“Move back in, then,” Tony offered. “The worst of the danger for you guys has passed, now that Congress has decided to look for blood elsewhere. Bring your new friend, too. You could come home.” Steve tried not to imagine the emotion hidden under that request. 

“I want to,” he admitted softly. “I really do. But Tony, I couldn’t ask you to house a criminal…”

“What…oh.” Tony breathed out. “Steve. It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t. Bucky is technically a wanted man in thirteen countries, including this one. And we haven’t found him yet, but when we do, I want to be able to give him the option of a safe place. And you, you have so much on the line. Your reputation, the company. I couldn’t—“

“I’m offering. Steve,” Tony cut in. “I am offering to open up my home to the Winter Soldier. I even already talked to my lawyers about it, and they think we can protect him. Legally.”

Steve tried to wrap his head around that. “Legally. Harbor an assassin formerly used by the most pervasive terrorist organization in the world.”

“Don’t sound so angry about it. I thought you’d like me doing things by the book.”

“I’m not angry, I…Tony, that’s amazing.” Steve stood and hugged him. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Tony said, and his voice sounded strange. 

Steve released him. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

“Nope. I am golden. Looking forward to harboring former enemies of the state and the world’s deadliest assassin. Again. Natasha is terrifying.”

Steve let out a surprised laugh. “Really, Tony. You don’t have to do this. I know…well, I don’t know, exactly, but I know you’re doing something selfless here. So, thank you.”

Tony huffed a laugh. “Repeating yourself, there, bud.”

“I know. I want to make sure you hear me.”

“Why wouldn’t I hear you?”

Steve shrugged. “You don’t always hear the nice things people say about you. I want to make sure you know I think you’re fantastic.”

This stunned him for a moment. “I…thanks, Cap.”

Steve tried not to beam like a kid in a candy store. “You’re welcome. And hey. Any time you need a reminder? Just ask.”

.o0o.

Steve called Natasha and asked her to bring her things by. “Finally,” she muttered. 

“What?” He could hear Clint ask in the background. 

“Steve and Tony kissed and made up. We can go home.” He tried not to blush red at the implication of kissing Tony. He almost certainly failed. But, since no one was around, it didn’t count.

“Literally!?” Clint all but yelled. 

“No,” Natasha answered wistfully. “They haven’t wised up that much yet. That’s a lot of character development for only two days.”

Steve spluttered and was ignored. Natasha, Sam, and Clint moved into Avengers Tower the next day. 

.o0o.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at neverthelessthesun.tumblr.com. I’d love to hear from you!


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